


M Soul, Act 1

by AlchemK



Series: M Soul [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Canonical Character Death, Homophobic Language, Infidelity, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Screenplay/Script Format, So AU it could be OU, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 07:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16677541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlchemK/pseuds/AlchemK
Summary: "Alone in this shitty cell, I’ve got nothin’ to do but drink and watch our time together play through my head like a Goddamn movie reel. I’m always looking for a new ending, one that redeems the honor I never had, where he comes back to me, where the confines of a private room isn’t the only place where we can love. And I imagine you- my audience- just might come to understand me then.Maybe."----------------Hey, so for all you literary nerds out there, this is a screenplay/script format AU based around David Hwang's play "M Butterfly." You don't have to have read/seen the play beforehand, but if you have, then there are certain references in it that you'll probably get! Instead of exploring gender themes, it'll be exploring the ambiguity of humanity and what it really means to be human.IF YOURE LIKE ME AND ACTUALLY ENJOY LITERARY ANALYSIS THEN BY ALL MEANS, ANALYSE THIS BC I WROTE IT SPECIFICALLY FOR THATThis is set in the 1970s, except androids are a Normal thing!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there's going to be some instances of 1970s slang and also some Uncomfy language that was normal for the time, so my apologies if that makes you uncomfortable ahhhhh
> 
> this is the most obscure thing anyone could ever do, so i hope that at least some people enjoy this!!
> 
> FEEL FREE TO LEAVE COMMENTS/CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM/ANALYSIS!! i will literally scream if someone leaves their analysis for me to read hdldjdkdkfldkd

_ Anderson’s prison cell. Detroit. Present.  _

_ There is a soft, audible “clink” of glass onto a hard surface. Lights fade up to reveal Hank Anderson, 60, in a prison cell. He wears a dark hoodie and looks old and tired, hair and beard long and grey with age. Beside him is a crate, on which sits a half-empty box of cigarettes, a quarter, and three bottles of whiskey- one just recently finished, the other two unopened. Anderson sits on the edge of the sad prison bed, a hopeless smile on his face. He looks at the coin.  _

_    Upstage Connor, who appears in very average wear- an off-white dress shirt tucked into slim navy-blue slacks-, stands with his back to the audience. “Love is Blue” by Paul Mauriat surrounds him.  _

_   Slowly, lights and sound cross-fade and a spotlight slowly appears over Connor; “Love is Blue” dissolves into Queen’s “Love of My Life,” Connor turning his head to face his right, making his profile visible. He seems more like a silhouette with the way the shadows play on his face.   _

_   Anderson’s eyes are transfixed on him, the man rising and turning upstage towards the figure of Connor, who stands there, back still turned without acknowledging him.  _

 

ANDERSON: Connor…

 

_ He forces himself to turn away, as the image of Connor fades out, and talks to us.  _

 

ANDERSON: My cell is cramped but the opposite of cluttered. I barely have any shit in here; everything you see here is all I have, save for the drinks they bring me from time to time- God knows I need ‘em. The door is strong. Keeps me protected from the fucking autograph hounds who think I’m some entertainer. A big fucking joke. 

  When I wanna eat, I’m marched off to the dining room, where hot slop is served on a metal tray. When I wanna sleep, the light bulb up there turns itself off- dies every night on command with the flick of a damn switch that I control. 

_ Anderson sighs.  _

I’m in a prison, yet I know people are talking about me. They don’t talk about me like I’m a criminal- no. I’m a pity-bucket. They laugh and spit down on me because they think I’m some dumbass who thought he was hot shit. Maybe I was- who knows. A big fucking joke. A big fucking joke that the whole world knows about. 

 

_ With a flourish, Anderson directs our attention to another part of the stage.  _

 

_ A party. Present.  _

_   It’s outdoors. A barbecue is going on, surrounding fires lighting the area. Smoke from the grill rises in a column, separating the cook from two men and one woman, who are having a conversation. Anderson also remains lit; he observes them from his cell, taking the old bottle of whiskey and trying to salvage what’s left, drinking as he watches.  _

 

WOMAN: And what of Anderson? 

 

MAN 1: Anderson? 

 

MAN 2: Anderson! Lieutenant Anderson! 

 

ANDERSON ( _ To us _ ): It’s like they wanna wear out my Goddamn name. 

 

WOMAN: He still can’t accept the whole skinney! 

 

MAN 1: What? Still? Even since the trial? That’s bogue! 

 

WOMAN: Yeah, isn’t he crazy? 

 

MAN 2 ( _ Laughing _ ): He says. . . They smoked together. Drank together! 

 

_ The trio breaks into laughter _ . 

 

MAN 1: So-- what? They were already breaking the law before his knowledge of it all. Lieutenant Anderson- a homosexual!    
  


MAN 2: A chicken queen, judging by the baby face on that thing. Is that what years of being in war does to you? 

 

MAN 1: Oh, but he didn’t even go to ‘Nam! 

 

WOMAN: It’s ironic that he was part of the war against androids back in Detroit. I mean- he must have been appalled after hearing the truth in court! 

 

MAN 2: You could say that again. 

 

WOMAN: Actually, I feel sorry for him. 

 

MAN 1: A toast! To Lieutenant Hank Anderson! 

 

MAN 2: To Anderson! 

 

MAN 1: To keeping toasters in kitchens! 

 

_ They toast, laughing. Lights down on them.  _

 

_    Anderson’s cell.  _

 

ANDERSON: You see that shit? They’re laughing at me. I’m the topic of entertainment at every party across the US. But, I don’t know. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life and I’m still not sure if that was one of them. At least Connor was more attractive than all those douchebags out there. I’ve known, and  _ loved _ the Perfect Man. 

   Alone in this shitty cell, I’ve got nothin’ to do but drink and watch our time together play through my head like a Goddamn movie reel. I’m always looking for a new ending, one that redeems the honor I never had, where he comes back to me, where the confines of a private room isn’t the only place where we can love. And I imagine you- my audience- just might come to understand me then. Maybe. 

 

_ “Love of My Life” starts to play over the speakers again.  _

 

ANDERSON: But if you want to understand what I did, why I did it, then you have to see and hear it all from the beginning. 

 

_ The lights fade. They  brighten in the center of the stage as the music fades out as well. Instead of the prison cell, they’re outside.  _

_    Capitol Park, Detroit. 1954.  _

 

_    Anderson is seated on a bench with a beer in hand. Fowler sits beside him, also holding a beer.  _

 

ANDERSON: So you got rid of your android? 

 

FOWLER: Mhm. It was old and rusty anyways- I don’t have the money to afford tune-ups and shit like that. Besides, all this mumbo-jumbo about “You can’t trust your machines anymore” is annoying. I’m tired of hearing Ben’s paranoid ass bother me about it all the time. 

 

ANDERSON: I hear you, Jeffrey. I never cared to get one. My wife and I doing just fine without one. 

 

FOWLER: Yeah? Good to hear, Hank. ( _ Pause _ .) Are you sure you don’t want to get her one, though? I hear tensions are rising with the Reds- Hell, they’ll probably send us to Asia or something. Maybe Vietnam, if things get out of hand with that Ho Chi Minh guy. 

_ Fowler shakes his head and takes a swig.  _

Fuckin’ Commies. 

 

ANDERSON: Vietnam. . . 

_    Anderson takes a contemplative sip.  _

How long do you think we’d be gone? 

 

FOWLER: Who knows, Hank? Months, years in those mosquito-filled jungles. ( _ Pause _ ) You’re  _ really _ sure you don’t want to invest in an android? I heard the newest ones can play music with tapes or something. Some of them have radio too. CyberLife’s full of stuck-up smartasses. It’ll sure keep her company- she’d be lonely without you. 

 

ANDERSON: Yeah. But I don’t have that kind of money- government sure doesn’t chuck it up. We already got a dog at home- just got him, actually. 

 

FOWLER: Oh, yeah? What kind? 

 

ANDERSON: You know me- the big kinds. The ones that are soft as shit but are fuckin’ scary to see when you look through the window and see it lyin’ there. He’s a Saint Bernard. My wife likes to call him Sumo. 

 

FOWLER: Then Sumo’s got a lot on his plate if he’s the one taking care of her. 

 

_    They laugh and continue drinking.  _

__

_    The lights dim, fading away. When the lights return, it’s in front of Anderson’s home. Two police cars are parked out front, Anderson coming out of the front door to see the commotion and his wife standing there, gawking at the scene. Three policemen are discussing something intently amongst each other. 1955.  _

 

ANDERSON: Jesus, what happened here? Was there a party I missed? 

_ (To his wife)  _ Are you alright? Anything happen to you? 

 

WIFE: I’m fine. The police came to arrest the neighbor across the street. 

 

ANDERSON: What? Henson? Why? 

 

WIFE: His wife caught him in bed with another woman whose arms were detached from her body. He claims to have loved it more than his own wife. 

 

ANDERSON: ( _ disgusted _ ) Christ. . . I never took Henson to be a disgusting kind of kinky. He could have just lied and said it was just to let off some steam. Like. . . using a sex toy or somethin’. 

 

WIFE: That’s what people do for love, I guess- break the law, I mean. 

 

ANDERSON: Love? ( _ He scoffs) _ I doubt it’s love. Don’t know how you could love a hunk of metal with a face. That law is just for all those crazy assholes in the world who think a machine is worth loving. 

 

_ Anderson shakes his head before heading back inside. The lights fade into darkness.  _

_    The stage remains dark. The sound of radio static breaks the silence before the voice of a newscaster bleeds into something audible and coherent.  _

 

RADIO: This just in- we have breaking news! On this day, November 11th, 1960, Detroit has become the epicenter for a growing conflict between humans and androids. Like a storm, androids have invaded Capitol Park in throngs of hundreds. While their words say peace, their eyes and their actions scream violence. 

 

ANDERSON: What? What the hell is going on? 

 

_ The lights abruptly turn on, a spotlight focused on Anderson standing beside the radio on the small table.  _

 

RADIO: Troops are being dispatched to combat this so-called “Revolution” as we speak. What will become of Detroit? Mayor Jerome Cavanagh has declared a state of emergency and has ordered the evacuation of every home within a 15 mile radius of the park. Depending on the extent of the conflict, more evacuations may be ordered in the near future. 

 

ANDERSON: Holy shit. . . 

 

_    There are three knocks on Anderson’s front door. He goes over to open it. Fowler walks in with a very obvious sense of urgency and is in uniform. He looks at the radio before addressing Anderson.  _

 

FOWLER: Speak of the devil. 

 

ANDERSON: Jeffrey, what the hell is going on? I was just packing my shit and all of a sudden androids are marching in Capitol Park?! 

 

FOWLER: Well, you better stop packing your shit because you’re staying here with your troops. Fuck ‘Nam, we’ve got a war here now. 

 

ANDERSON: Fuck. . . What am I gonna do about my wife? What about Cole? 

 

FOWLER: Hank, this is a fuckin’ civil war! If you don’t go out there and do your job, then they won’t have a home to stay in either. We barely got any men here anyways- most of ‘em are out there fighting Gooks. We might as well give a couple old farts some rifles and hope they don’t knock their hearing aids out with every shot. 

 

ANDERSON: Alright, alright, I get it. 

_ He sighs, running a hand through his hair.  _

Let me put my damn uniform on. I never wanted anything to do with these fuckin’ androids. You know how much I hate these things. 

_ He walks offstage, Fowler following in suit.  _

 

FOWLER:  _ (walking off stage in Anderson’s direction) _ Jesus Christ, Hank! Just get your damn uniform on and get your ass out here! 

_ The two can be heard bickering as they leave the stage. _

 

_ The spotlight turns off abruptly once the two are completely off stage. “Love of My Life” starts playing softly on the speakers as the lights fade in, showing Anderson sitting on the edge of his prison bed beside the crate in his cell.  _

_    Present.  _

 

ANDERSON  _ (To us) _ : Rebel androids rose up against their masters and their creators in 1960. Everything started in my home town of Detroit. Looking back at it now, though, maybe I should be thankful. If those things never started marching in Capitol Park, then I would have been sent to ‘Nam and would have never gotten to meet  _ him _ . Or maybe never meeting him would have been for the best. God knows what I’d be doing now- if I’d even be alive, as a matter of fact. 

_    He motions to upstage where an android with a female-modeled body without synthetic skin appears, standing still and upright. The LED nub at its head is a solid blue.  _

These tin-cans are the brainchild of CyberLife- a company that started out by making things like home phones, televisions. That kind of shit. Then they changed the world and the way society turns with androids. These things are built for different purposes- heavy-lifting, domestic servitude, waiters, pilots. Drivers. _ (Pause) _ All metal, no mind of their own.  _ (To the android) _ Hey, you. 

 

_ The android opens its eyes suddenly.  _

 

ANDROID: Yes? What do you need of me? 

 

ANDERSON: Register your name as “Sarah.” 

 

_ The LED at the android’s temple spins flashes yellow for a moment before it turns blue again.  _

 

ANDROID: My name is Sarah. 

 

ANDERSON: Actually- I don’t like that name. Register your name as “Renee.” 

 

_ The LED at the android’s temple flashes yellow for a moment before it turns blue again. _

 

ANDROID: My name is Renee. 

 

ANDERSON  _ (To us) _ : Yeah, you like that light at its head? The newer ones have LEDs- light-emitting di. . . di. . . Whatever. LED. Some of the newer ones got lighters, clocks, radios, tape-recorders, tape-players- all that good stuff. Last I heard, there were rumors of letting androids see in color- a privilege that even some humans never had. Unbelievable. 

   They look like humans, but they aren’t. They’re far from it. Humans made ‘em, yet they can do so much more than us. Must be why so many people hate the fuckin’ things. Androids threaten the very fabric of society because of how perfect they are. Once they start feeling, then they aren’t as perfect as they oughtta be. 

   Feeling. 

_ Anderson laughs, shaking his head.  _

The Rebels claimed that they could feel. They stopped obeying and started  _ being _ . It was almost as if they were. . . human. Human- can you believe it? I couldn’t. 

   That’s why God must have thought it was a fucking hoot to have us meet. That day changed my life. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank meets the Perfect Man he spoke about. Maybe sometimes he can appreciate another voice in his head besides his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, the fourth wall is broken a lot here because it's written as if it were a play, and that gets the audience a lot more involved in what's going on. That supposed to parallel to how the actual game gets players involved in the story and all that ahhhhhhhsldhlkjflkjsf
> 
> ALSO like mentioned before!! FEEL FREE TO LEAVE ANALYSIS HERE! I live for comments, questions, constructive criticism, analysis, etc. y'all know the drill

_ The music fades out along with the lights. When the lights fade back in, we see Anderson sitting in uniform at a bar counter, drinking a glass of whiskey.  _

__

_    Ann Arbor, 1973.  _

 

_    Connor walks up to Anderson, standing beside the seated man as he leaned over to speak to him.  _

 

CONNOR: You’re looking quite lonely there, Lieutenant. 

 

ANDERSON: Lieutenant. . .? How did you-- 

 

CONNOR: Your uniform. May I sit? 

 

ANDERSON: Sure, yeah. No one’s stopping you. 

 

_ Connor seats himself beside Anderson at the bar counter, flagging down the bartender to order a drink for himself before he turns to look at the Lieutenant again.  _

 

CONNOR: So I heard your platoon got pushed back today. 

 

ANDERSON: You must have hearing for miles, because I have no idea where the hell you would have gotten that from. 

_    He takes a drink with a laugh and an incredulous shake of his head.  _

 

CONNOR: The news. I never caught your name, though. And the radio doesn’t offer a show of face. 

_    He receives his drink in a glass, taking a small sip before continuing.  _

But I could tell it was you from the expression you were making just now. You sit here like you’ve already lost the war. 

 

_ Anderson raises the glass to his lips contemplatively before he looks to the man beside him fully.  _

 

ANDERSON: What’s your name, kid? 

 

CONNOR: My name is Connor. It’s an honor to meet you, Lieutenant. . .? 

_    Connor holds his hand out for Anderson to shake. He takes Connor’s hand in a firm handshake.  _

 

ANDERSON: Anderson. Lieutenant Hank Anderson. 

_ He turns to look at the audience, hand still in a firm mid-shake with Connor’s.  _

_ (To us) _ He smiled at me like he already knew my name. That’s because he already did- he already knew it after one good look, that little shit. He just wanted to hear it come out of my mouth. That’s how he got me to play his little game, and I fell deep into it. Ass deep and I couldn’t get back out. I was trapped from the very beginning.

 

_ Connor takes his hand away from the shake first. Anderson turns to look back at him.  _

 

CONNOR: So- your platoon? Tell me about it, about what happened. 

 

ANDERSON: You wanna know? Lost ten men- I had thirty-two. Thirty-two against a whole mess of androids. There must have been at least eighty of them, all rushing at us. Some of them didn’t even have weapons. It’s like they _wanted_ to get shot in the head. 

_ Connor smiles into his drink. Anderson’s brows furrow in confusion at that.  _

What? Is shit like this funny to you? 

 

CONNOR: No- it’s not funny to me. It’s unfortunate, of course, but. . . 

 

ANDERSON: But. . .? 

 

CONNOR: Androids don’t  _ want _ , Lieutenant. Deviants don’t want either. 

 

ANDERSON: Deviants? 

 

CONNOR: It’s what CyberLife calls the Rebel androids, or any androids that “deviate” from their programming, so to speak. Intuitive naming on their parts. 

   Machines don’t  _ feel _ . It’s what makes them machines. 

 

ANDERSON: Yeah, yeah. Some kind of war this is, killing things that-- 

 

CONNOR: --Can’t be killed. 

   You can’t kill what isn’t alive in the first place, Lieutenant. 

 

_ Anderson puts his drink down on the counter.  _

 

ANDERSON: There’s still something weird about this war, though. CyberLife’s even sayin’ that we’re gonna need android soldiers to make up for the lack of men we have. Androids fighting androids- can you believe that? 

 

CONNOR: It’s almost like humans fighting humans. 

_ Anderson looks to Connor, expression vaguely offended.  _

I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. 

 

ANDERSON: It’s--  _ (Pause. He sighs.)  _ It’s alright. I mean, hey- you got a point, I guess. I just hope you didn’t come sit next to me because you’re a pacifist who thinks we should drop everything and stop fighting. Or you’re some android sympathizer or something. God knows I don’t have energy for that shit. 

 

CONNOR: Oh, no. Of course not. I’m just. . .

 

ANDERSON: Just what? 

 

CONNOR: I’m worried for Detroit. How far the war will spread. How it’ll affect humans. 

 

ANDERSON: People can move, get new houses. But I don’t know how many people will be buying androids any time soon. 

 

_ Connor remains silent for a while as he continues to drink.  _

 

CONNOR: What about your family, Lieutenant? Will they be alright? 

 

ANDERSON: Yeah. I don’t have much of a family, but I get what you mean. She’ll be alright. 

 

CONNOR: Oh. She? Do you have a wife, Lieutenant? 

 

ANDERSON: Mhm. I know, you’re probably lookin’ at me like I’m some hopeless loser. “God, what idiot would marry an old piece of shit sitting in a bar?” I get it. 

_    The lights suddenly turn off, a spotlight remaining only above Anderson as he turns his head to address the audience.  _

   But he didn’t. He didn’t look at me like that at all, I could see it in his eyes. You’d think he’d try to blend in by faking judgement, but he didn’t. And it felt. . . like I still meant something in this world, even after losing what I thought had been my entire meaning to life. Frankly, it was terrifying. It was terrifying to have meaning again, even if I was an old fuck. A young guy like  _ that _ taking an interest in  _ me _ ? 

_ Another spotlight appears to the side of the stage over his wife, standing there with a troubled, grieving expression. She looks tired- just as tired as Anderson is. _

   My wife- I don’t know if she ever caught on. It was obvious that things went downhill after Cole’s death, and we both stayed together because we were just too lazy to sign the divorce papers. I was never even home consistently for all the years the Revolution raged on, distancing us more and more. But that was for the better. For Connor. 

_ The spotlight turns off over his wife, and a moment later, the lights of the stage turn on again, setting Anderson back in the bar. He looks at Connor again. Connor looks at him intently, engaged.  _

 

CONNOR: No. I’m not looking at you like that at all. 

_ He leans in closer, barely, before turning his head away again as he speaks.  _

Everyone gets old someday. If not physically, then spiritually. Mentally, perhaps. That’s what it means to be alive,  _ (He turns to Anderson again with a subtle tilt of his head)  _ doesn’t it? 

_ Connor picks his drink up, taking a sip from it before swirling it idly in the glass. Anderson is silent, mulling over his words.  _

 

ANDERSON: How come I don’t always see you here? 

 

CONNOR: I decided a change of pace would be nice. 

 

ANDERSON: Would it be too much to ask if I started seeing you here more often? 

 

_ Connor gives a couple blinks. An extremely faint smile crosses his features.  _

 

CONNOR: No, not at all. In fact, I was waiting for you to ask. 

 

ANDERSON: Really? You wanna talk to an old Lieutenant like me? 

 

CONNOR: Of course. I want to talk to someone who knows what life is. I want to hear about anything you’d like to talk to me about- the androids everyone despises, the war, your family, your life. Your emotions. 

 

ANDERSON:  _ (He laughs) _ And if I start venting to you, are you gonna give me a sliver of philosophy every time? 

_ Anderson takes a drink with a scoff. The glass is now empty.  _

Might as well sit my ass down back in school, why don’t you? 

 

_ Connor raises his brow, the amusement in Anderson’s tone flying over his head.  _

 

CONNOR: I didn’t mean it in a condescending way, Lieutenant. I only wanted to let you know about how I-- 

 

ANDERSON: No, it’s not condescending or anything. Actually, I kinda like it. You know, listening to someone else’s piece of mind. God knows I don’t got anymore of it- a mind. 

 

_ Connor remains silent before he pulls a couple bills out of his pocket, sliding them forward on the counter. The bartender takes the bills.  _

 

CONNOR: Another of the same for the Lieutenant, please. 

_ Connor rises from the stool, smoothing out the wrinkles from his shirt as he stands. _

It was a pleasure meeting you, truly. I’ll be here every night. I’d like to hear whatever you have for me, even if it is about this android war. Goodnight, Lieutenant. And I wish you the best of luck. 

_ Connor walks offstage. Faintly, “Love of My Life” starts to play. _

 

ANDERSON  _ (To us _ ): I thought I had him wrapped around my finger, but I didn’t. He had me in the palm of his hand. His brown eyes could scan over me, under me, through me, and his mind knew everything there was to know. He only asked me to probe me, to know what I would admit to him- to gauge how comfortable I was with him. 

   And fuck, if I wasn’t  _ comfortable _ . I was so comfortable that he could hold a gun to my head and I wouldn’t think anything of it. He was so human that I fell so deep into those eyes, and only a glowing blue nub on the side of his head would have told me otherwise. And even then, who knows? 

   I don’t. 

 

_    The lights shut off and the song continues to play until it fades out moments later.  _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank meets with The Perfect Man again. Little by little, they get even closer, and that’s just where Connor needs him.  
> And Hank’s wife is oblivious- oblivious and indifferent. Grief does that to people.

_ Anderson’s home. Detroit. 1973.  _

_    Anderson is in a loose t-shirt and boxers. His wife enters the living room.  _

 

WIFE: It’s been so long since I’ve seen you here and you didn’t even bother to wake me up when you walked in? 

 

ANDERSON: Sorry. Been a lot on my mind lately.  _ (Pause)  _ Androids are arrogant, aren’t they? 

 

WIFE: That what everyone seems to be saying these days. 

 

ANDERSON: What is that thing that they say? “Androids are superior to humans”? Jesus. 

_ He shakes his head, sitting on the couch. _

For things that can’t even feel, they’re pretty fuckin’ prideful to be saying shit like that. They say they’re people too, but just they can walk and talk doesn’t mean they’re just like the rest of us. 

 

WIFE: You can preach all you want, but you’re not going to change them. “Androids will be androids, people will be people,” or something like that. I heard it on the radio.

 

ANDERSON: I can’t believe it. . . 

_ He scoffs. _

I met. . . at the bar tonight- you shoulda’ been there. 

 

WIFE: Oh? You know I don’t like bars. Why? Bartender have something particularly enlightening today? 

 

ANDERSON: No. I met a guy- his name is Connor. Young guy, probably not any older than twenty or somethin’. He knew I was the Lieutenant that got his platoon fucked just with one look at me. Scary- I feel like he could have read me like a book. 

 

WIFE: Is that so? I wish he could tell me why I’ve been so fatigued lately. 

 

ANDERSON: I think we both know why we’re feelin’ that way. 

_ He looks to his wife for a moment before he looks forward again with a sigh.  _

Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring it up again. 

 

_ She exits. Anderson sighs. The lights dim for a moment before returning again, showing a different scene.  _

_ Ann Arbor. The bar. 1973. _

_    The clatter of glasses and faint discussion fills the stage. The noise fades slightly when Anderson walks towards the center of the stage.  _

 

ANDERSON  _ (To us) _ : My wife and I have been like that ever since he died. It’s always a game of circling around a bush that we never look at, that we never talk about. And sometimes, when we do look at it, when we do talk about it, the air gets thick. It’s not awkwardness, it’s grief. Lingering grief and guilt. Something I thought an android could never understand. 

   The bar was nearly empty. There’s a couple of bums trying to sip up the last of the alcohol in the cups, or just trying to sit somewhere, maybe trying to raise their blood-alcohol levels just by taking in the vestigial atmosphere of sad, old drunks, or young, rowdy brats trying to see how many shots they could take before they spilled their guts out onto the floor. It’s always been my favorite place- the bar. It’s been even more so when I saw. . . him. 

 

_ The upstage area is suddenly hit with a harsh white light. It highlights the counter where Connor sits in the same clothes as the night before. Drink in hand, he sits. There is a beat, then Connor looks at Anderson, blinking almost innocently. Anderson walks towards the other, sitting beside him at the counter.  _

 

CONNOR: Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. 

 

ANDERSON: Hey. Didn’t think you were gonna be here again. 

_    He calls over a bartender, ordering a drink for himself.  _

 

CONNOR: You thought I lied to you? 

 

ANDERSON: No, course not. 

 

CONNOR: That’s what your previous words imply. 

 

ANDERSON: Well, that’s not what I meant. It’s good to see you. 

 

CONNOR: It’s good to see you as well. How is the war going? 

 

ANDERSON: Oh, you should know. Seems like you’re always listening to the radio anyways. 

 

CONNOR: Yes, but I want to hear it from  _ you _ . 

 

_ Anderson raises a brow.  _

 

ANDERSON: Sure. You know what- sure. I’ll humor you. 

_ He receives his drink, taking a sip before he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, calling over the bartender for a box of matches- Anderson seems to have misplaced his. He offers Connor a cigarette.  _

_ (To us)  _ And if you thought drinking was crazy, here’s the crazier part. How could anyone blame me for not knowing after  _ this _ happened? 

 

_ Connor looks at the cigarette with a neutral expression, waiting a moment before he takes it,  _

 

CONNOR: Thank you, Lieutenant. 

 

_ Anderson lights a match, holding it up to the end of the cigarette in his mouth before he holds the match out for Connor, who leans his head in closer to have the tip of the cigarette reach the flame of the match. Anderson puts the match out, putting it in a stray cigarette tray nearby on the counter.  _

 

ANDERSON: What was I saying? 

 

CONNOR: You were going to humor me. 

 

ANDERSON: Right.  _ (He laughs) _ Right. 

_ He takes a long drag, trying not to blow smoke into Connor’s face when he exhales. _

There haven’t been any casualties today. We actually managed to push the androids back a couple meters on my side- a fuckin’ miracle. I thought we’d never get any victories lately. Blue blood covers everything at this point. It’s surprising that we aren’t drinking that shit now. 

   Androids are relentless, though. They say they’re alive, but they definitely don’t act like they are. No human could go for weeks out there, taking bullets like it’s nothing. It’s terrifying, frankly. 

 

CONNOR: Do they breathe? 

 

ANDERSON: What? 

 

_ Connor takes a drag of the cigarette before he blows a small cloud of smoke, the grey billowing right in front of Anderson’s face.  _

 

CONNOR: I asked if they breathe. 

 

ANDERSON: Well, obviously- they don’t. They’re not alive. Sure, they look human, but CyberLife didn’t want to waste some extra money giving them lungs, or at least making ‘em look like they got some air flowing through ‘em. 

 

CONNOR: Is that the only reason they aren’t alive? 

 

ANDERSON: Beats me. I guess you could say they don’t eat- and either way, they don’t need to. They’re just walking tin-cans with a battery inside of ‘em. Their brains are just machines. 

 

CONNOR: Some could argue that the human brain is essentially a machine as well, functioning on electrical and neural stimulation. Storing away information like a technological database. 

 

ANDERSON  _ (To us) _ : He always made me think about what I was saying- that was another scary part about it. I liked it, I liked talking to him, but for once in my life, someone was questioning me about my beliefs. My beliefs that were the same as practically everyone else’s. Like a Devil’s Advocate, his cheeky words poisoning me with intrigue and his attractive face luring me in for the kill. I was helpless, a prisoner of my own humanity. Despite all this, it  _ felt _ great. I loved it. I loved him. 

 

CONNOR: It’s getting late. I could listen to you talk forever, but I need to go soon. 

 

ANDERSON: Do you need me to take you home? It gets dangerous at night. Sometimes androids like to step their boundaries. 

 

CONNOR: No, I’m fine. But you could walk me to the bus stop if you wanted to. 

 

ANDERSON: I’ll do you a solid. 

_ He gets up, placing a couple dollar bills onto the counter. Connor is about to place his share on the counter before Anderson grabs his wrist, stopping him. Connor only looks up at him with a neutral expression, vaguely contemplative, as if trying to determine his intentions.  _

   It’s on me. Don’t worry about it. 

 

CONNOR: Sure. I won’t worry about it. 

_ He takes another drag of the cigarette, holding it in between his lips as he puts his money back into his pocket. He puts the cigarette back between his fingers as he speaks.  _

   Thank you, Lieutenant. 

 

ANDERSON: Don’t mention it. Wouldn’t want to your name to add to the list in the papers- citizen casualties and all that. 

 

_ They walk down from the upstage to the foreground of the stage, outside and arriving at the bus stop. _

 

ANDERSON: It was nice talking to you. I hope to-- 

 

CONNOR: Goodnight, Lieutenant Anderson. 

 

_ Connor gets onto the bus, the vehicle driving off in the night. Anderson stands there alone.  _

  
ANDERSON  _ (To us) _ : So much protecting him from danger. I never even realized that  _ I  _  was the one in danger, and the threat was right in front of my face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! like i said, analysis is greatly appreciated and would actually make me scream with joy,,, 
> 
> comments, constructive criticisms, questions!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank finally gets to see where the Perfect Man lives. Things go almost as perfectly as they should have, but the night ends early and Hank is left yearning, like every human does.

_    Anderson’s prison cell. Detroit. Present.  _

_ Anderson sits on the edge of his prison bed, taking slow sips from his glass.  _

 

ANDERSON: I returned to the bar that next week, and the week after that. . . You get the idea. He keeps our meetings brief, so I’m left like a parched man in a desert getting just a taste of water every single time. I started to doubt myself-- Hell, I’ve been doubting ever since I got married. He was just so fucking. . . human. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever spent time with before. I yearned like no married man should’ve. I knew he was single. Single and alone. No girlfriend, no fiancé. Just him and those brown fucking eyes and that goofy voice. The lonely, disgusting old man in me hoped to God and back that he was interested in me too, that I wasn’t some pervert breaking the law without a purpose. 

 

CONNOR ( _ Offstage _ ): I’ll be there in a moment. 

 

_ Anderson gets up from his prison bed, and the scene changes. He stands in front of a door now, fixing the lapels of his uniform.  _

 

ANDERSON: Tonight, he’s finally given me the address to his place. There’s something in me that tells me that he’s afraid of me-- if not me, then there’s something buggin’ him. Something in his brown eyes always tells me there’s something I’m not seeing, and all of me just wants to see it. 

 

_ The door opens, revealing Connor on the other side. His clothes are normal, just as they always are.  _

 

CONNOR: Come in. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. 

 

_ Anderson walks up the steps to the front door, taking one last look around. The apartment buildings are stuck together with no space left between them. He walks inside the living area and takes a look around the small place. It’s plain, the walls greys and whites. Anderson goes over to a lone radio sitting on top of the kitchen counter. Everything is immaculate and organized.  _

 

ANDERSON: This your partner in crime?

 

CONNOR: I don’t quite understand. 

 

ANDERSON: The radio. Is that what you use to update yourself about the war all the time when you’re not with me? You probably use the thing as a conversation prepper, huh? 

 

CONNOR: Oh. Yeah. I do. 

_ He walks over to the kitchen counter, pausing for a moment as he looks back over his shoulder to the other man.  _

Water? Or a drink? 

 

ANDERSON: You should know me by now. 

 

CONNOR: You’re right. I don’t know why I asked. 

_ Connor opens a cupboard and grabs the whiskey, pouring it into a glass before taking it to Anderson, who is now sitting on the couch.  _

 

ANDERSON ( _ Taking the drink _ ): Thanks. What, not gonna pour one for yourself too? 

 

CONNOR: No. I drank too much over the past few days. 

 

ANDERSON: You and me both,  but you don’t see me stopping. You just like to see me get shitfaced. 

 

CONNOR: That’s not true. 

 

ANDERSON: Alright, alright. Just sit down, will you? You’re making me feel awkward. 

 

_ He motions for Connor to sit beside him.  _

 

CONNOR ( _ Sitting _ ): That happens. My apologies. 

 

ANDERSON: You really live alone? All by yourself?

 

CONNOR: Yes. But it’s not lonely. I can always hear the neighbors’ television set from my bedroom. 

 

ANDERSON: I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty fucking lonely to me. 

 

CONNOR: Oh. Is it? But I thought the presence of others erases the loneliness? 

 

ANDERSON: Yeah, but it’s better with people you know. Plus, your neighbors aren’t even in the same damn room as you. 

 

CONNOR: The walls are quite thin. It’s almost the same thing. 

 

ANDERSON ( _ Amused _ ): Yeah, sure. 

_    He takes a drink, looking to the walls before looking into his drink.  _

 

CONNOR: I. . . I don’t know why I invited you here. 

 

ANDERSON: Hm? 

 

CONNOR: There is an element of danger to your presence- not to me, but to your reputation. 

 

ANDERSON: What do you mean? 

 

CONNOR: You must know. 

 

ANDERSON: It doesn’t concern me. We both know why I’m here. 

 

CONNOR: It doesn’t concern me either. No. . . Well. . . 

 

ANDERSON: What? 

 

CONNOR: Aren’t you afraid of scandal, Lieutenant? 

 

ANDERSON: Well, what the fuck are we doing? 

 

CONNOR: I’m entertaining you, and we’re alone in my home. 

 

ANDERSON: I’ve done the same with my colleagues. What’s wrong with it? 

 

CONNOR: I’m not your colleague, though. What will people think of a Lieutenant visiting a young man’s house- a young man who has nothing to do with the war against androids? 

 

ANDERSON: They can think what they want. 

 

CONNOR: Lieutenant. 

 

ANDERSON: What? 

 

CONNOR: There’s something wrong with this. 

 

_ Connor gets up from his seat, his eyes shifting away from the other man on his couch.  _

 

ANDERSON: I don’t see what. 

 

CONNOR: It’ll be a scandal. ( _ Pause _ ) Were you just here to talk to me? I find that unlikely. 

 

ANDERSON: You’re a very good conversationalist. You have a lot in that head of yours.

 

_ Silence.  _

 

CONNOR: I do. You like to listen to everything I say because it takes your mind off of your personal issues. 

 

_ Anderson puts his drink down on the table and gives a sigh.  _

 

ANDERSON: Maybe. But are you gonna kick me out because I wanna do more than just talk? 

 

_ Connor turns to face the other man, expression as neutral as it was contemplative.  _

 

CONNOR: No, I won’t. 

 

ANDERSON: So it’s mutual? 

 

CONNOR: What’s mutual? Our enjoyment of our conversations? 

 

ANDERSON: You know what I’m talking about. 

 

CONNOR: I had to make sure. 

_ Anderson reaches towards Connor, hand about to touch his jaw before the younger brings a hand up to gently hold Anderson’s hand back.  _

Are you afraid? 

 

ANDERSON: What? 

 

CONNOR: Are you afraid? It’s a very human thing to be afraid, isn’t it? 

 

ANDERSON: It is, but what am I afraid of? You’re the one who seems more scared than I am. 

 

CONNOR: You can’t be so sure of that. 

_ He lets go of Anderson’s hand.  _

You should go. The next time we meet, it can be here again. If you’d like. 

 

ANDERSON: Yeah. I would. 

 

CONNOR: You’re rather eager. 

 

ANDERSON: What do you expect? I’m only human. 

 

_ Anderson walks downstage. Connor exits.  _

  
ANDERSON ( _ To us _ ): Did you hear the way he talked to me today? It was different. Shit, if I thought we were gonna go that far, I would have brought a couple smokes. He’s so human. So real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might start drawing art for this!! if people bug me enough, i definitely will, ahaha   
> I do draw a lot of DBH and other stuff though ahhhhh follow me on instagram @alchemtk   
> lmao 
> 
> analysis, questions, constructive criticisms, any comments,,,, very appreciated-- it keeps me going!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank disregards the law in favor of being with someone who's real.

_ Detroit. A barrack. 1973. _

_    Anderson moves toward a table with a topographic map on it. Others are moving about the barrack, trying to get files in order, making calls, getting supplies, sitting idly.  _

 

ANDERSON ( _To us_ ): I started thinking- thinking more than I usually did, anyways. I thought about what Connor told me. I wasn’t afraid, I really wasn't. Hell, I had nothing to be afraid of. But with the people around me, I figured it would be safe to tread lightly. I’d be getting myself into a deep rabbit hole if  I didn’t. There weren’t any problems with Connor. I didn’t see too many problems with this entire thing at all. The law was the least of my issues, anyways. 

_ Reed enters in uniform, a cigarette between his fingers. He brushes up against Anderson with a wolfish grin.  _

There’s one of my few problems right now. 

 

REED: You like ‘em young, Hank? What, your wife too saggy for you now? 

 

ANDERSON: Shut the fuck up, Gavin. At least I got one. So cut the crap- what’re you talking about, huh? 

   ( _ To us _ ) He couldn’t be talking about Connor. Who the hell was he to jump to conclusions like that? 

 

REED: Saw you talking to some girl on your way out the other day. 

 

ANDERSON ( _ To Reed _ ): Yeah, doesn’t hurt to tell some stupid people to stay away from the fighting. Some people haven’t even left their homes yet. It’s like they wanna watch the war from their porch or some shit. 

 

REED: Mhm. Just know that we’re all watching  _ you _ , Hank. Your every fuckin’ move. I’ll make sure Fowler hears about it all. Who knows? Maybe word’ll get to your wife too. 

 

_    Reed exits.  _

 

ANDERSON ( _ Yelling towards offstage _ ): Great! Keep watching me, bastard. Not like you got a fucking war to pay attention to or anything. 

   ( _ To us _ ) Gavin is just a brat- always has been. He never knew when to shut his mouth either, always spreading rumors just to keep sane. He’ll take any chance to displace me and get me shot, so long as he can move up the ranks. Nosy prick. 

   Of course, I didn’t let him stop me from doing anything. In fact, over the next couple weeks, I stayed focused on this damn war and this damn war alone. That meant not going to the bar, not seeing Connor, not even thinking about him. But I knew he was waiting for me, just as much as my subconscious was waiting for him. I took that time away from him to process what the fuck was really going on with us- with me. I wasn’t so much of an asshole to say that I deprived him, but something in my head told me that, if he wasn’t deprived of me, he was deprived of something. Whether or not I had that something is a goddamned mystery. 

   So I waited another week. And another. And another. God knows it was a long two months. I know that for a fact after the drinks stopped hurting me and started helping me forget that I had a wife waiting for me at home. I thought about him more than I did her. But I’m sure if she went and found a younger man for herself, I wouldn’t have given a damn either. Now I’ve been leaving  _ two _ people lonely and waiting. 

  God. . . I’m a terrible fucking person. 

 

_ The lights fade, Anderson stumbling across a darkened stage.  _

 

_ Connor’s apartment. Ann Arbor. 1973.  _

_    The lights come back. Connor enters, wearing his normal clothes, adjusting his tie as he walks towards Anderson inside the small living room.  _

 

CONNOR: Lieutenant, are you drunk? 

 

ANDERSON: Connor-- 

 

CONNOR: To come here. . . at this hour? After two months and four days? I shouldn’t have let you in. 

 

ANDERSON: I didn’t--

 

CONNOR: You may have scared my neighbors- they might think that the war has extended this far. They know your face from the papers. They know you’re in here, in my home. 

 

ANDERSON: I know. Just let me--

 

CONNOR: You should be concerned about what they have to think about you. You shouldn’t be here. They can only imagine what purpose you have here with me. It’s alright- I can settle for listening to news about you on the radio like always. It won’t be any different from before. 

 

ANDERSON: I’m sorry, I was just-- 

 

CONNOR: It’s not an apology to me. It’s one for yourself, Lieutenant. What of your reputation? What if the law--

 

ANDERSON: I was afraid. I’m sorry. 

 

CONNOR: . . .Oh? 

 

ANDERSON: Afraid you were too good to be true. Real people are so fucking hard to find. 

 

CONNOR: You had to distance yourself because you were afraid you weren’t as real as me. 

 

ANDERSON: Okay, wait a minute. Now you’re-- 

 

CONNOR: For two months and four days? You could have contacted me. 

 

ANDERSON: Hey-- You kept count of every single day? 

 

CONNOR: What else could I do? I missed our conversations. 

_ He pulls the curtains in before walking towards Anderson.  _

I missed  _ you _ . There could have been the possibility you had died in the conflict. Or perhaps forgotten me. I didn’t feel the same way without you. 

 

ANDERSON: What? Didn’t feel complete? 

 

CONNOR: No. I didn’t feel alive. 

_ Connor walks over to Anderson.  _

You’ve spoiled me with a  _ feeling _ like no other. Once you were gone, there was nothing. 

 

ANDERSON: You don’t care about the law? 

 

CONNOR: No. Only about you. 

 

ANDERSON: Are you mine? ( _ Beat _ )

 

_ “Love of My Life” begins to play faintly over the speakers, gradually increasing in volume _ . 

 

CONNOR: I’m lonely, Lieutenant. 

 

ANDERSON: Are you mine? ( _ Beat _ )

 

CONNOR: So lonely, Lieutenant. 

 

_ Anderson brings him close, starting to kiss him roughly. Connor pulls away after a moment.  _

 

CONNOR: Lieutenant, I’ve never. . . 

 

ANDERSON: Call me Hank. ( _ He laughs _ ). Really are lonely, aren’t you? 

 

CONNOR: I’ve just. . . 

 

ANDERSON: Are you cold? 

 

CONNOR: Yes. Cold. 

 

ANDERSON: Then we’ll go slow. Very slow. 

 

_ Anderson brings a hand up Connor’s arm, feeling at his neck gently. Cold, but thrumming. Connor loosens his tie before tossing it aside, unbuttoning his shirt. They move upstage, still close to each other, Anderson moving him to the bed with his hands on Connor’s hips.  _

 

CONNOR: Hank. 

 

ANDERSON: Yes? 

 

_ Connor lies back, shirt untucked from his pants and fully unbuttoned.  _

 

CONNOR: You’re married, aren’t you? What about your wife? 

 

ANDERSON: What about my wife? 

 

_ Anderson begins to unbutton his uniform. _

 

CONNOR: Hank. 

 

ANDERSON: Yeah? 

 

CONNOR: I want you to teach me. 

 

ANDERSON: Teach you what? 

 

CONNOR: Teach me how to be human. 

 

_ The lights blackout all at once. The music becomes fainter along with their voices and sounds.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of Act 1! Don't worry, for the few of you actually keeping up with this, Act 2 will be coming out soon under the same collection! PLEASE,,,, I DONT BITE,,,,, TALK TO ME,,,,


End file.
